


Gated Community

by killingsaray



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, The Prison Therapist/Inmate AU NO ONE Asked For, therapist!zulema, utter fucking FILTH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingsaray/pseuds/killingsaray
Summary: "How do you know that I haven't just been manipulating you for the year that I've known you? Making you just think that I've changed so you'll write me a glowing recommendation?" She walked the short two feet to Zulema’s chair and rounded it, coming to stand on her right.ORThe one where Zulema helps Maca get out of prison.
Relationships: Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir
Comments: 17
Kudos: 125





	Gated Community

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW.
> 
> half-edited but fuck it. I’ll go back and edit it fully tomorrow.

* * *

_ Zulema Zahir, Esq. _

While the title would have been fancy, the work itself would have been a crime. Defending people who defend people who actually should be exactly where she was at the moment. In jail. 

Well… in a way.

Her career path hadn't been much more glamorous than becoming a lawyer. Instead of defending them, Zulema, sat in a quaint office that she'd been allowed to furnish to her satisfaction, in the Cruz del Sur Correctional Facility for women in Madrid, as a criminal psychologist and licensed therapist. While she normally bounced back and forth between the prisons, the hospital psych wards, and the asylums, Zulema had to admit that the prisons were the lesser of three evils. Still, she was around danger every day, and that was really no way to live, but it paid well and she couldn't complain about his two-story condo in downtown Los Angeles. But, sometimes… just sometimes, it felt as though she were making money off of someone else's pain.

"What's up, Dr. Z?" A cheeky grin from the inmate in her doorway. Over her shoulder, a slight, yet muscular officer stood guard.

Ferreiro, Macarena. Inmate number 02.643. Completely brilliant, undeniably attractive (despite the tacky yellow prison uniform), and incredibly cocky.

"Macarena." Zulema smiled back. Almost a year ago, she'd come to work with the blonde, and every week, she found herself looking forward to the session with Macarena. "Please, come in."

She shuffled in, not bothering to pick up her feet on the dark grey carpet, hands in her pockets. Zulema turned his gaze to the guard just outside his door. "Thank you, Fabio. Could you close the door, please?"

Fabio looked between Ferreiro and the good doctor as he did every week, silently asking if Zulema would be okay alone with the prisoner. "We'll be fine. I'll shout if I need you." Zulema assured him, just as she did every seven days. Fabio nodded his approval and shut the door behind him.

"So," Zulema turned her full attention onto the blonde sitting across from her, "I hear you have some good news."

"Well, doc, I'm up for parole." Macarena turned in the ugly orange material chair so that her feet dangled over the left arm and her head rested on the other. She rolled her head to look at Zulema with a faint smirk. "But I gather you already knew that."

"I did," Zulema confirmed.

"And how does that make you feel?" Macarena asked, mockingly.

"Well, now here I thought  _ I _ was the psychologist and  _ you _ were the inmate." She meant it as a joke, but the flash of hurt in Macarena’s brown eyes was unmistakable. Zulema had known for a while about Ferreiro’s little crush on her. Most of the women she saw for sessions, did. Zulema knew she was a beautiful woman, and she radiated what her friend Saray called “top energy”, but she was here to help these women, and that was all.

Yet she couldn't explain the pang in her own chest that came with hurting Macarena’s feelings.

"Yeah, well, we all make choices, don't we?"

"And that's what we should talk about today. Your choices. The ones that got you here, and the ones that will help get you out."

"Meaning what? I should be repenting and saying three Our Fathers and twenty Hail Marys?" Macarena scoffed and swung her feet gracefully around, standing from the chair. Idly, she walked around the office as if she'd never been there, looking at the generic paintings and plaques on the wall. She walked around to Zulema’s desk, picking up the yellow stress ball that the brunette used in between long sessions.

"You're Catholic?" Zulema asked.

"In theory." Macarena tossed the ball into the air and caught it as gravity finished its cycle. 

Toss and catch, toss and catch. 

She walked back around the office until she was sitting on the hideous tangerine cloth again and swung her feet back around to rest on its arm.

"And in practice?"

"In practice, I'm not as forgiving as God says I should be." This time when she caught the ball, she looked over at Zulema.

"Which is why you're here."

"No, doc, I'm here because I tried to kill the man who killed my niece.."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"Oh, you mean the  _ cerdos _ who are on his patrol?" She rolled her eyes and tossed the ball into the air again. "I'll be sure to try that next time." And then caught it.

"Okay, fair enough," Zulema replied. "If you or your family felt your lives were in danger, why not start with an order of protection?"

"There was. But what are you gonna do, throw a piece of paper at a sniper? Or a driver in a car coming full speed down the street? Come on, doc. I thought psychologists were supposed to be smart."

Despite the dark topic, Zulema smiled at the insult.

"And what's the point of this conversation, anyway. We've already been over this."

"I just want to see if your views have changed."

"Changed from what to what?"

Zulema fought the urge to sigh at her patient. "Look, Macarena. The parole board isn't going to want to hear the gruesome details. What they really want to know is whether or not you've been rehabilitated. If you feel any remorse about what you've done."

"So?"

"So, do you? Feel any remorse?"

"Would you?"

"I'm not the one in the yellow uniform."

The blonde made a tching noise with her teeth and pivoted to sit in the chair properly. "I'll tell the parole board whatever they want to hear. Truth be told, I feel a bit of remorse, but not for what I did to that prick. I'm pissed off at myself that I let the anger get the best of me. I missed my niece’s funeral. I’ve missed birthdays and Christmases, and Easters. Now, the only thing I’m focused on is getting out of here so that I can reunite with my family before I miss anything else."

There it was, finally. Zulema had gotten past all of the cocky answers, vague responses, and down to the god honest truth. Her green-brown eyes locked onto Macarena’s and for a moment, they communicated telepathically. Macarena had once told Zulema about her fears of going to bed here and never waking up, never being able to see her brother or father or even her mother again. She was only thirty-five with her whole life ahead of her. But in the same breath, she'd told Zulema that she'd rather die than admit she was wrong for taking her father’s pistol and emptying nearly an entire clip but only hitting her target twice in the shoulder.

But now, it was a whole new ball game. Macarena was feeling guilty. She knew that she'd handled things wrong, and it seemed as if she was willing to admit that to the parole board.

"Well, I'm here to help you get out of here. My opinion is highly respected by the board. And from what I can tell, in the year-and-a-half that we’ve been working together, Maca, you've shown a tremendous amount of change, and promise."

Standing once again, Maca grinned, amusedly. "How do you know that I haven't just been manipulating you for the year that I've known you? Making you just think that I've changed so you'll write me a glowing recommendation?" She walked the short two feet to Zulema’s chair and rounded it, coming to stand on her right.

"Because a manipulative liar wouldn't ask questions like that. They wouldn't want that suspicion brought on them." Zulema looked up at her and smiled. "You want to be a badass, but deep down, you're really just a marshmallow. Nice try, though."

Maca grinned and leaned down, her hands resting on the arms of Zulema’s chair, her voice taking on a dark, seductive tone. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

Zulema swallowed harshly, her jaw clenching as she bit the inside of her cheek. It was strange, how even in prison, she managed to smell like rose and chamomile soap. Zulema looked up at her, masking her own emotions brilliantly. She cleared her throat and shifted closer to the left side of her chair, resting an elbow there. "So, the board is going to want to know what you will do once you get out."

Macarena shrugged, keeping her gaze locked with Zulema’s. It was strange, this emotion Zulema was feeling. Her heart had started to beat just slightly higher than normal, and not out of fear. No, she didn't fear Macarena Ferreiro. Far from it. But, the blood from her brain was quickly finding its way south.

"Well, what do you want to do when you get out?"

"Hm. So… many things." Maca rasped. She looked into Zulema’s eyes for a moment longer, that cocky smirk still evident. Then, almost as if she were in a trance and someone had snapped their fingers and told her to wake up, Maca’s eyes flicked up towards the clock above the door and inhaled through her nose. Standing to her full height, she told Zulema, "But that's a conversation for another day, doc."

Zulema looked at her watch and cleared her throat again. "I will see you next week for the parole hearing, then." She stood from her chair, willing away the heartbeat she was suddenly feeling between her thighs. She stuck her hand out for a shake. Macarena looked at it before she half-snorted, half-breathed a laugh. Shaking her head in amusement, the blonde woman turned and shuffled out of the office, still not bothering to pick her feet up.

* * *

_ One week later... _

"Miss Ferreiro, what have you learned during your time here at Cruz del Sur? Do you feel that you have been reformed in a sense?"

"Honestly, sir, yes I do. I look around and see that everyone here has hurt someone. I've learned that there is no such thing as a victimless crime. I hurt someone dearly and the time that I've spent here has been punishment enough. I have had nothing but time to think about the wrong that I've done and I only want to make amends. I feel that I have learned a valuable lesson while being incarcerated. While talking with Dr. Zahir, I've learned that I cannot allow my emotions to rule my actions. Plenty of people get angry, sad, or frightened and do not lash out. And I should not have either."

The board of four members, five including Zulema, seemed to be eating up every word that she was saying.

"And, if given your freedom, what will you do with it?"

"Well, I'll start by getting to know my family again, and I have a secure full-time job at my family's company doing clerical work. I would like to start taking regular counseling sessions for anger management and I just want to live out the rest of my days just being the best person that I can."

Three out of four of the members looked quite impressed with her. The other had kept his face passive throughout the entire ordeal. Macarena, however, had always been good at poker, and if the shaking of his foot was any indication, he liked her as well.

"Well, we will consider your interview, take a vote, and you will hear from us in twenty-four hours' time." A gavel was banged and the interview was adjourned. Maca smiled; she had a good feeling.

* * *

_ Two weeks later.. _ .

A knock sounded at Zulema's office door. She permitted the unexpected visitor's entrance despite the late hour.

"What's up, Dr. Z?"

When she looked up from the paperwork she was signing off on, Zulema's eyebrows lifted, her normally passive face slowly lighting up.

"Maca." She breathed.

Macarena stood in the doorway, that ever-present grin on her face. It was different, seeing her in a pair of jeans and a graphic v-neck shirt as opposed to the yellow prison outfit. Zulema liked this, the way the shirt clung to her breasts and sides, and fell loosely over the top of her jeans.

"Come in." Zulema ushered her in with a wave of her hand and Macarena entered, shutting and locking the door behind her. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

Feet shuffled her over to the desk and around to the side of Zulema’s chair. "I just came to say thank you. I read your letter of recommendation."

"Did you? I thought those were usually classified."

She shrugged. "I know a guy."

"Well," Zulema steepled her hands, "how was the letter?"

"Oh, it glowed, for sure," Maca smirked. "What was my favorite part? Oh yeah, 'and while Miss Ferreiro regards herself highly, she does not think of herself as omnipotent. She holds much power over others, and it is my personal and professional opinion, that if given the opportunity, she will gain control over herself.' She quoted.

Zulema cocked an eyebrow.

"My question is, do I still hold a little power over you, doc?"

Zulema swallowed. Hard. Maca was leaning over her chair, giving her that look, staring into Zulema’s face with a predatory smirk. Instead of waiting for a response, she rose to full height and gripped the bottom hem of her tank top and pulled it off, exposing her bare breasts to him.

Zulema cleared her throat but remained silent. 

This was beyond unprofessional. Maca could sense her reservations as she took Zulema’s hands and placed them at the button of her jeans.

"You're not my psychologist anymore." She shook her head to reiterate her point and leaned down to press her lips against Zulema’s. 

Just once.

But that’s all it took before something in Zulema snapped and she smashed her lips back against Macarena’s, fingers fumbling with the button of her jeans. She got Maca’s pants undone and they were off in a flash. Their mouths never parted, the kiss deepened as Zulema stood up and Macarena started pulling at the buttons of her black, Mandarin collar shirt. Macarena ran her hands across and down the bare flesh of her chest and stomach while Zulema unbuckled her own belt and unzipped her pants. Taking Maca’s hand, she slipped it into her tailored pants and gasped as Macarena wasted no time in pressing her fingertips firmly against her pussy, the only obstacle being Zulema’s dampened underwear.

Zulema shoved her tongue further into her mouth and Macarena accepted it as she squeezed her soft hand around the back of Zulema’s neck, holding her closer. Zulema swallowed Maca’s squeal as she lifted her up onto the desk, completely ruining the paperwork her assistant had worked all day on. A hand on her chest forced Maca onto her back, and Zulema pulled her panties to the side. Kissing down her chest, Zulema stopped to suckle on either nipple, squeezing one while the other was being lavished by her tongue and teeth. Macarena groaned and placed her hands on Zulema’s head as she kissed her way down, past her navel, and to her overheated sex. Maca closed her eyes and her back arched at the first contact of the older woman’s tongue on her clit.

"Shit." It had been a god-awful long time since she'd been with anyone, and even longer since they'd eaten her out the way Zulema was. She devoured Maca as if she were a thirsty, starving traveler in the desert and Macarena was an oasis. She stopped for a split second to remove her panties completely, before diving back in, burying her entire face in her mons. The higher Macarena's moans got, the quicker her tongue worked, slipping into her wet passage before gliding its way back up to her clit, and sucking hard.

"C'mere," Maca managed to moan, pulling on her face until she gave in to her command and brought the brunette’s lips back to hers, tasting herself on Zulema’s tongue. "Inside, now." She whispered between kisses. Zulema didn’t waste another moment, as she pushed an exploratory finger inside, pulling away to watch her wrist twist until the palm of her hand face up. Sliding out once, she married three of her fingers together and pressed back in. They met with a little resistance, so Zulema pulled out and then in again. 

Less resistance this time. 

And by the fourth stroke inward, Macarena's body had welcomed her completely and they melded together perfectly.

"So fucking tight." Zulema murmured. They moved in perfect rhythm as if they'd been doing this dance together forever. Macarena’s channel clenched around him tighter than anything she'd ever felt and Zulema leaned over her, stroking in and out furiously, giving her everything that she had to give, the heel of her giving Maca’s clit the perfect amount of pressure and attention.

"So good,” panted Maca. She rose up on the desk, wanting to touch Zulema. Her hand dipped back into Zulema’s pants and underwear and they both groaned into the kiss the moment Maca’s hand met the wet skin there. She strummed at Zulema’s clit like an expert musician, somehow making the brunette just  _ that _ much wetter. 

“Maca,” whispered Zulema. Pleaded, really, and it was not an unwelcome color on Zulema. Grinning, Maca finally slipped inside of her with painstaking slowness. Little by little, she worked up a rhythm until it matched the punishing one that Zulema had begun.

They kissed, or rather a sloppy mesh of something that resembled a kiss, both too focused on the glorious friction that came with their union.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come." Macarena moaned into her ear. Zulema kept up her pace, upping the ante by squeezing her left breast and sucking on her neck. She knew the moment it happened. Maca’s body became taut and her moans stopped. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her hand wrapped around Zulema’s wrist as she tried to pull her in as deep as she could go. Inside, she spasmed around Zulema’s fingers. The tightness in her arm caused Zulema to grit her teeth as she fucked her through one orgasm and straight into the next one.

This time, she was right behind Maca, grunting her pleasure, her back bowed, hands gripping blonde tightly just enough to pull Maca’s head backward. 

"Fuck!" Zulema cried into Maca’s neck. 

"Oh god!" Maca shouted to the ceiling. 

Spent, Zulema's upper body collapsed atop of hers. 

For a long while, they remained in that position, until Macarena broke the silence first with a small breathy chuckle.

"We could've been doing this for a year instead of talking."

Zulema laughed. "Yeah, but then you'd still be in that fucking—," she found that she couldn’t say prison. It was strange that the place felt almost like an insult to Maca. So instead, she finished with, " _ gated community _ ."

Maca threw her head back in laughter. "This is true."

**Author's Note:**

> I’m killingsaray over on twitter and tumblr if you wanna say hi.


End file.
